


Running with Scissors

by rose_malmaison



Category: NCIS
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, Undercover, pre-slash mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 19:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_malmaison/pseuds/rose_malmaison
Summary: Tony goes undercover and although it is dangerous, and he is alone, he knows his team is watching over him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penumbria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbria/gifts).



> Written for Secret Santa 2018, for Penumbria.  
> https://ncis-sesa.livejournal.com/  
> I went back and edited this a little since originally posted.  
> This takes place late in Season 7 after Senior makes his first appearance. Senior only has a minor role in this story.  
> Thanks, Jacie, for being a great beta!

****

 

 **Notes: Cover art is by me... I love creating photo collage art!** This was written for the 2018 Secret Santa Gift Exchange, to fulfill a wish by Penumbria to see a competent Tony, among other things. This is primarily an action case fic, mostly pre-slash DiNozzo/Gibbs.  _As always, comments are appreciated!_

**Running with Scissors**

**Chapter 1**

 

PROLOGUE

 

Tony loved to run. It made him feel alive, stretching his legs, feeling the burn, pushing himself to his limit and beyond. His feet pounded on the frozen ground as he ran through the woods, occasionally slipping slightly on damp leaves despite wearing boots with good tread. He fought his instinct to press on hard, and slowed down a little. He had to pace himself; he had no idea how far he had to go, but the more distance he put between himself and the men trying to catch and kill him, the better.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

EARLIER

 

Two dismembered corpses had turned up – or, at least, some parts that indicated they were from two men – at various locations around rural Virginia, and were identified as Navy men who had been missing for three weeks.

 

“Why is this the first time I’ve heard of this?” demanded Gibbs.

 

McGee was quick to say, “Petty Officer Hansen was a gambler and was listed as being AWOL. Petty Officer Green was recently divorced and was on medical leave after back surgery. His superior officer didn’t expect to see him for another few days.”

 

Tony cut in to say, “And when the body parts started showing up, the FBI took the case and only just informed us, Boss.”

 

“Well, we’ve got them now,” Gibbs said, “so go down and find out what Ducky has to say, DiNozzo. Ziva, you see what Abby’s got. McGee, get Fornell in here now.”

 

The two dead Navy men, petty officers Hansen and Green, had been both stationed miles apart. The men were both athletic and in their thirties, but nothing else in their lives or backgrounds seemed to connect. Even the way they were killed was different. Petty Officer Hansen had been shot long distance, and Petty Officer Green had been knifed in the belly and bled out.

 

Ducky and Abby agreed that it was likely two people had worked together to kill the victims. They had recovered a partial print and DNA on the plastic wrapping a leg belonging to Hansen, and the same DNA on the second victim, Green’s body. But a second man’s DNA was also found on Green’s clothing, suggesting that two killers may have worked as a team.

 

Using the forensic findings, the team narrowed down one of the killers to a former Navy SEAL, James T. Huston. The team found out that he had left the Navy a year ago, after doing a ten-year stint, was reputed to be the founder of the Warheads, an extremist group based in Virginia.

 

The FBI had looked into the Warheads but Fornell, who dropped off a file the FBI had on the group, admitted very little was known about them. “James Huston, the leader, did some rabble-rousing about six months ago, made some threats against the government, and his group incited a riot down in South Carolina. Fifty protestors hurt, damage to property, but nothing could be pinned on Huston or the people with him. Since then, he’s kept low on the radar,” he told the team.

 

Tony quickly reviewed the file. “Pinnell is the only other person known to have an affiliation with the Warheads? What’s his background?”

 

Fornell replied. “Justice Pinnell, former army, saw a lot of action: Somalia, Afghanistan. He was investigated for torturing Afghan locals to get information. No charges were ever made. As far as others, we have a list of known associates, but none of them seemed involved in the group.”

 

McGee said, “I’ll pull up Pinnell’s prints, and see if we have his DNA.”            

 

“Huston hasn’t done anything illegal, that we know of, and the group hasn’t taken credit for anything. So far they’re just a name, another extremist group made up of men with military backgrounds. They don’t even seem to have a central location. There have been no sightings of Huston for several months. He could be dead, or maybe he’s left the country. And with no activity from the group, we’ve moved on. We have bigger fish to fry.”

 

“So these Warheads are all talk and no action?” Tony asked.

 

“You calling dead Navy sailors ‘no action’?” Gibbs demanded, looking seriously pissed off.

 

“No, of course not, Boss.” Tony backed up a couple of steps and turned on his heel. “How about I look into Huston’s background and activities? I’ll check his connections to the deceased, and locate anyone who knew him in the Navy,” he was quick to say as he headed for his desk.

 

McGee chimed in, as he made a beeline for his computer, “Bank accounts, money trails.”

 

“See where his pension checks are sent,” Gibbs reminded him.            

 

“I will make contact with my Mossad friends…” Ziva said, but Gibbs stopped her.

 

“Forget that. These Warheads are local. Find them! Do it now! And somebody talk to the dead men’s COs.”

 

Fornell watched in amusement as Gibbs’ team jumped right into their assigned tasks. “You sure have them trained well. Tell me, do you use a cattle prod or a nice big carrot?”

 

“They’re good agents,” was Gibbs’ succinct answer. Tony started to smile at the praise but Gibbs barked at him, “If you’re smiling, you’re not working hard enough.”

 

Tony quickly wiped the smile off his face and dove into his work. He was smiling inside, though, because Gibbs had praised them aloud, which was unheard of.

 

Further investigation found that there was nothing to suggest the two victims had ever crossed paths. They had nothing in common, except both men had been killed within a few days of each other, if not at the same time. Petty Officer Hansen was preparing to leave the Navy, and was said to have substantial gambling debts; Petty Officer Green had been plagued with stress-related medical problems ever since he’d returned from active duty overseas, plus he’d just gone through a divorce.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

James Huston’s former commander remembered him as having problems with authority figures. “Nothing I could write him up for. But it was always there, under the surface, that hint of insubordination. He liked being the lead, and if he hadn’t been such a know-it-all prick, he would have risen in rank a lot further than he did.”

 

It was frustrating because Huston neither owned nor rented any property on record, and had no living relatives. Since he’d left the Navy, the Warhead’s leader had become a ghost. He didn’t use credit cards, there were no phone records and no known vehicles in his name, and so far the MCRT hadn’t found any way of tracking him. Wherever Huston was, and whatever he was doing, he was living totally off the grid. They couldn't even ascertain if the Warheads had a physical location.

 

“These days you can’t do anything without leaving some kind of paper trail,” Tony pointed out. “So Huston either has a new ID or…”

 

“Someone’s fronting for him?” McGee asked. He turned back to his computer. “Has to be a friend, or someone he knew in the Navy, if he doesn’t have any relatives. There’s no match yet for the second sample of DNA, so we have no idea who he is.”

 

Ziva said, “Perhaps there is no physical location for the Warheads. They might be made up of small cells of men who have little contact or knowledge of the other cells.”

 

“Or else you’re not looking hard enough,” Gibbs replied caustically.

 

Days passed and despite all their efforts, Gibbs’ team still hadn’t located Huston or the Warheads’ headquarters, or even any names of the group’s members. Pinnell, the only other member of the group they knew of, was nowhere to be found.

 

At that point, Vance, who had been following their investigation, called a meeting with Gibbs and Tony in his office. He said he’d decided that someone should go undercover to locate any members of the group and see if anyone knew Huston’s whereabouts. “DiNozzo, you’re up. Start with gun shows, demonstrations, homegrown agitators’ hangouts. And if you get any useful intel, the next step will be to try to infiltrate the Warheads.”

 

Gibbs, annoyed that Vance was giving his agent orders, replied, “You mean _when_ he gets the intel. And this is my investigation, so I’ll tell DiNozzo where to look.”

 

“Just get it done,” Vance said sharply.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

“I won’t be able to wear a wire,” Tony said, as they worked out the details in the bullpen. “Too risky. These guys aren’t going to let any strangers in without frisking them.”

 

“If Tony cannot wear a wire, how are we to keep dibs on him?” Ziva asked.

 

“Tabs,” Tony corrected. “Keep tabs on him. I mean, on keep tabs on me.” He turned to Gibbs. “Yeah, how are you going to do that, Boss? Last time I did this, that tracking device in my boot didn’t work out so well.”

 

McGee pulled a face. “Oh yeah. Jeffrey White. _That_ did not work out well.” Ziva elbowed him, looking for more info, but Tony caught McGee’s eye and shook his head. The case reminded them of how Tony had gone missing when pretending to be an escaped convict, and how close he had come to getting his throat cut, and how McGee had grown a pair and told the Deputy Secretary of State to shove it, on Gibbs’ orders.

 

They brought Abby into the meeting in the bullpen and she got all excited. “There’s this cool new spy-chip we can implant in you, Tony, totally untraceable with a body scanner. Usually, they’re injected in the back of the hand, but it’ll leave a mark, so we’ll have to inject it somewhere else.” Her dark red lips slowly parted in a speculative smile. “Looks like you’ve been working out recently, Tony. I need some muscle, so how about I embed it in your shoulder?”

 

“How about shooting him in the ass?” Ziva suggested, giving Tony’s rear end a quick slap.

 

Tony warned, “Do that again, Ziva David, and you’ll end up on your ass.”

 

“It was simply a playful–”

 

“Rule number thirty,” Tony said, stepping out of her range.

 

“This is one of Gibbs’ rules? Number thirty?” asked Ziva, looking around. “I do not believe I have heard it before.”

 

McGee explained, “It’s one of Tony’s rules. Never touch a kid’s toys… uh, a guy’s things.” Ziva looked puzzled so he added, rolling his eyes, “No touching. Just… hands off, Ziva.”

 

Gibbs gave Ziva and McGee work to do, and barked, “DiNozzo, you’re with me,” as he strode towards the elevator.

 

In the lab, Abby was preparing a special gun that was used to inject the tracker. It looked like a glue gun with a sharp metal tube sticking out of the muzzle. Tony whined, “Is this going to hurt?”

 

“Only for a moment,” Abby assured him. “The tracker is really small.”

 

“But that needle is really big. Maybe I could swallow it instead?”

 

“Not a good idea,” Abby said, with a laugh. “You’d need to dig for it when it…uh… comes out the other end, and swallow it again.”

 

“Like Redford in _The Hot Rock_? His gang stole a huge gemstone from a museum, but when they ended up in jail they had to hide their loot somewhere.”

 

“So they swallowed it?” Gibbs asked.

 

Tony nodded. “Oh yeah, one guy did. Had to recycle it, like Abby said. Not a nice image but… It was a great caper movie, despite the bodily evacuation thing. 1972, a Peter Yates film.”

 

“You’re stalling,” Abby accused, holding the gun at the ready.

 

“Just take your shirt off, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said impatiently.

 

“Okay, okay.” Tony removed his shirt. He was aware of Gibbs’ eyes on his bare torso, and, being under such intense scrutiny, he was glad all his working out had resulted in some nicely defined muscles. He quipped, “You know I’ll strip for you anytime, Boss. You don’t need the old microchip-in-the-shoulder excuse.”

 

Gibbs snorted and watched as Abby injected a small silicon capsule the size of a bead into Tony’s shoulder muscle. Tony made a big deal out of it, rubbing his deltoid afterwards and complaining that it hurt, which made Gibbs shake his head.

 

As Tony buttoned up his shirt and tucked it in, Gibbs said, “I want you to check in regularly.”

 

“If I can. I might not get the opportunity.” That didn’t seem to satisfy Gibbs, so Tony mollified him, saying with a smile, “C’mon, Boss. There’s nothing to worry about. You know me, I’m great at undercover. I can be anyone, and talk to anyone, and I’ll bet you that once I locate these Warhead guys, they’ll love me.”

           

“I still want you to report back to me. We’ll set something up. Vance okayed a place for Tony DiMaio to live, and you can work with Abby on getting it set up.”

 

Abby clapped her hands and Tony grinned at her. “Sounds like fun,” he said.

 

“This is not supposed to be fun, DiNozzo! Unless you want to end up with your dismembered legs in one county and your head in another, you’d better watch your six,” Gibbs ground out. “You hear me?”

 

Knowing that Gibbs was right, and that his gruffness came from a place of concern, Tony nodded. “Sure thing, Boss.”

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

Tony immediately got into his DiMaio character, and what had started out as a carefully constructed facade soon became part of his identity as he got deeper undercover. First thing was to change his appearance as well as his attitude, as people judged a book by its cover.

 

DiMaio was pseudo-military, rough around the edges, and on the lookout for easy money. Tony had been working out since before the op started, and had taken up weight training to bulk up a bit. He really got into his character, had his hair cut, high and tight like Gibbs’, and wore layered hunting camo over white tees or, when it got colder, gray thermals. Nothing was new. He’d insisted on it, shopping at second-hand shops in the seedier part of town. Abby had put some extra wear and tear on the clothing by sticking them in a dryer and tumbling them with grit and pebbles.

 

Gibbs had looked him over with approval, and offered him a pair of his own well-used waterproof tactical boots.

 

Tony had asked, “You sure, Boss?”

 

“Yeah, but you’d better bring them back, DiNozzo. It took me a while to break ’em in.”

 

NCIS set him up in an efficiency apartment. It was small and suitably grungy, in a part of town that reminded him of his first apartment in Baltimore. Abby helped him decorate it to look like home, or the kind of home that Tony DiMaio would have, with evidence of his military background including photos of him and his unit aboard the Eisenhower (manufactured by Abby), plus _Shooter_ and _SurvivalMan_ magazines, an oversized TV, a treadmill and a few weights, ratty blinds covering the windows, second- and third-hand furniture, and a brown-leaved potted plant that looked like its days were numbered. The aging pizza boxes stuffed in an overflowing garbage can in the corner of the kitchen, and some dirty socks and crumpled t-shirts strewn on the grungy carpet added to the ambiance.

 

If anyone checked up on him, they’d see exactly what he wanted them to see: a down and out former military man with no life to speak of, who was in serious need of room freshener and a vacuum cleaner.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 

The alley was dark and chilly, but Tony didn’t have to wait long to be picked up. An older model Chevy sedan in a deep maroon color drove up. It barely stopped long enough for Tony to get in and was moving before he got his seatbelt on. “Hey, Boss,” Tony said in greeting. “Nice cover vehicle.”

 

“Loaner from Tobias. And don’t call me Boss,” Gibbs warned.

 

Gibbs was right; when you’re undercover you have to stick to it 24/7. Tony couldn't resist saying, “Oh yeah, thanks for the ride, _Leland_.”

 

Somehow, Gibbs managed to glare at him out of the corner of his eye while driving at his usual break-neck speed, screeching around corners in order to lose anyone following them. Not that anyone was, though.

 

They slowed down to a normal speed, and Tony took a deep breath. “Wow. If anyone _had_ been following us, they’d be sucking fumes about a mile back.” He sniffed the air and twisted to look in the back seat. “Is that… pizza? From Jerry’s Pizzeria? How’d you know I’ve been dreaming of their pizza for the past two weeks?”

 

“It probably got scrambled,” Gibbs said with a slight shrug of apology.

 

Tony reached over and pulled the pizza box into his lap. Even if the cheese had sort of slid off, he didn’t care. “Mmmm. Wanna a slice?” he asked as he bit into one. He couldn't help moaning, it was so good. “Oh, this is great. Love ya, Leland.”

 

Gibbs sent him a sideways glance. “Save some for when we get there.”

 

Licking his fingers, Tony asked, “Where’re we going?”

 

“My house. We need to talk and you sure as hell can’t walk into NCIS like that.”

 

“What’s wrong with me?” Tony glanced down at his clothing: a once-white tee under a khaki wool sweater he’d found in a second-hand store, and baggy cargo pants tucked into his borrowed boots. “I’m going for urban storm trooper,” he said with a grin.

 

Gibbs examined Tony before turning his attention back to the road. “The whole thing: the hair, the scruff, the khakis. You’d attract attention and we can’t risk you being seen by the wrong people.”

 

Okay, so Gibbs had a point, but even though he’d been separated from the team for a mere couple of weeks, he was lonely and wanted someone familiar to talk to. Tony ran a hand over his jaw. “The beard is just starting to grow out. I mean, I know I look shady but that’s the point. The boots are great, by the way. Nice and toasty. I’m a fashion plate compared to some of the guys I’ve been hanging out with.”

 

Gibbs snorted and said, “We’ll eat first, then you can brief me.”

 

It was nice walking into Gibbs’ home, even if he’d only been undercover for a short time. This was their first in-the-flesh contact and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed seeing a familiar face. Okay, he missed seeing Gibbs; he could admit that to himself. They’d had brief relays of pertinent information over a burn phone but that was about it. Being out there alone got tired pretty fast, and being in Gibbs’ house was like coming home after a long trip away.

 

Gibbs pulled down all the blinds, and told Tony to make himself comfortable at the dining room table. He brought in some bottles of cold beer and placed a couple of bowls of salad on the table, simply saying, “Ducky.” Tony understood. As they ate, he asked how everyone was doing, and if they’d caught any interesting cases. Gibbs was his usual curt self, replying, “Fine. And no.”

 

After the pizza was gone, Gibbs dished up helpings of pecan pie with praline, and fetched a large tub of coffee ice cream. “Abby baked it. Once she knew I’d be meeting you…” Gibbs explained.

 

Tony looked around, half-expecting Abby to jump out from behind the couch or curtains. “And where is she hiding?”

 

With a smile, Gibbs said, “I convinced her not to come. I had to remind her not to jeopardize your undercover mission. It’s risky enough we’re meeting like this.” He scooped a generous serving of ice cream on top of each slice of pie and pushed one bowl towards Tony.

 

Tony was disappointed Abby wasn’t going to join them, but he did like having Gibbs to himself. The pie proved to be delicious, and Tony made a lot of noise as he ate, acting as if he hadn’t had a decent meal since he’d been under. “Mmmm. Everything tastes so much better…,” he said with an unapologetic grin. Gibbs, who was digging into his own dessert, just grunted.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

Gibbs carried a couple of mugs of fresh coffee into the dining room, set them down, and pushed a bowl of sugar and the hazelnut creamer Tony’s way. He sat across from Tony but didn’t say anything. Tony sipped his coffee and nodded his thanks, and eventually said, “My dad called me just before I took this assignment. He wanted me to meet him for dinner, and I couldn't explain why I had to say no. He took it personally, so I said it was work-related. Then he said that you were too controlling, and that I could do better for myself.”

 

Gibbs made a non-committal sound.

 

“I told him, again, that I love my job. I love working for you.” Tony groaned. “I feel like I can never do anything to please him. Why do I let him get to me?”

 

Gibbs gave a small shrug and said, “It’s normal for a kid to want to please their parents.”

 

“I’m not a kid though,” Tony said vehemently.

 

“And you think I am? Look, my dad always gets me pissed off, and he doesn’t do or say anything that bad. It’s a knee-jerk reaction.”

 

“Maybe it’s some kind of male competition,” Tony said with a snort. “You know, young cub has to try to take on the mature lion.”

 

“There’s no competition there,” Gibbs said.

 

“You mean I can never win,” Tony replied, feeling depressed over that thought. Talking to his dad was like pushing against an impenetrable wall.

 

“No, I mean you’re a good man, Tony, brave and loyal and a damned smart investigator, and he’s too much of an arrogant prick to see it!”

 

Tony stared into Gibbs’ eyes, unable to speak, and then a warm feeling came over him, and he felt heat rising to his cheeks. “Um, well, wow. I didn’t… thanks, Boss.”

 

“I meant every word of it, but if we don’t get to work we’re going to be up all night.” Gibbs handed Tony a yellow pad and said, “Write down the names of everyone you can think of.”

 

“You want makes and models of their cars?”

 

“Don’t suppose you happened to jot down any of their plates?”

 

Tony grinned. “Just so happens I did.”

 

“Attaboy,” Gibbs said, petting Tony’s hair.

 

They got down to business and Tony related to Gibbs everything he’d observed over the past couple of weeks, and wrote down details on a yellow pad while they drank coffee. Gibbs said that an investigation into Pinnell’s recent activities revealed nothing to say he was the one fronting for Huston and the Warheads. “There’s no record he has any property other than a house in West Virginia where he lives with his wife, or has rented any kind of property that might be used as the headquarters of this group. Chances are, they don’t have a home base.”

 

Tony leaned forward. “Hansen and Green’s bodies were found in western Virginia. The report from the police and the FBI says the body parts were found by accident and were pretty well buried in rural locations. Petty Officer Green’s head never would have been discovered if that piece of property hadn’t been excavated for the construction of a house.”

 

“So the killers didn’t expect the bodies to be found,” said Gibbs.

 

“And I think it’s likely they were buried close to wherever the killers are living,” Tony deduced. “From the parts recovered, it looks like the bodies were dissected into at least six sections. That’s a lot of pieces to get rid of.”

 

“McGee plotted the locations where the body parts were found.” Gibbs pulled out a map. “East of the Shenandoah River State Park, north of Charlottesville, and south of Leesburg.”

 

“One part was found as far east as the Potomac. That’s a big area.” They observed that most of the body parts were found relatively close to Shenandoah, so they decided Tony would concentrate on going to bars, meetings, and rallies in that area. “I’ve already drunk more beer in the past two weeks than I have in the past year,” Tony complained good-naturedly.

 

Gibbs said, “It’s possible Hansen and Green were recruited for the Warheads, and something went wrong.”

 

“We’re not going to find out what went down until we locate Huston, and question him,” Tony said, frustrated.

 

They talked about the motivations of the groups Tony had encountered, and a strategy for getting closer to the Warheads, and after a couple of hours, Tony was ready for some shut-eye.

 

Gibbs set him up in the spare bedroom upstairs. The queen bed was comfortable – Tony had stayed over a few times over the years – and the luxurious towels Tony had given his boss a couple of Christmases ago were hanging neatly over the towel rail in their shared bathroom. There were some toiletries and a new toothbrush sitting on the counter near the sink. After using the bathroom, Tony came out into the bedroom, to find Gibbs leaning against the doorjamb in what might be considered a sultry pose.

 

Tony sat on the bed to remove his boots and tried to ignore the way Gibbs slouched in the doorway like Paul Newman in _Hud._ It was weird, the way he was watching him. He could feel Gibbs’ eyes on him while he stripped down to his briefs, and wondered what was on the man’s mind. Tony stood by the bedside wiggling his toes, unsure what was going on. There was a long silence, and the bedroom seemed to be getting smaller by the minute, with the way Gibbs was looking at him. It was almost of predatory, as if he thought Tony was a tasty meal ready for the taking, but that couldn't be right. No way was Gibbs into him, not like that, even if there had been moments over the years – moments that had never developed into anything – because they were both federal agents, straight guys who worked together and… because this was Gibbs.

 

Gibbs smiled a little, like he knew something Tony didn’t, and he took a couple of steps forward until he was an arm’s length away.

 

Tony shifted his weight and scratched his unshaven jaw. “You got anything I can sleep in? It’s sort of chilly.”

 

As usual, Gibbs was a step ahead. He opened the top drawer of a dresser and pulled out a long-sleeved tee-shirt and flannel sleep pants, which Tony quickly pulled on.

 

Gibbs said, his voice low, “It’s good to see you.”

 

Tony laughed nervously, not sure what was going on, if this was a test of some kind. “Hey, I missed you, too, Boss.”

 

“You look good, Tony.”

 

“Not too scruffy?”

 

Gibbs gave him a crooked smile. “Like the haircut.”

 

“Glad you approve.” Tony sat on the bed and removed his watch. He yawned and ran a hand over his face. “Don’t know why I’m so tired,” he said nervously. Maybe it had to do with being in Gibbs’ house, one of the few places he could really relax. Or, he would be able to unwind a bit if Gibbs stopped looking at him like that.

 

“I’ll get you an extra blanket,” Gibbs said, apparently amused. He reached past Tony and pulled the covers down, brushing against him even though there was plenty of room.

 

Deciding he was too tired to figure out what the hell was going on, Tony climbed in and collapsed onto the pillows with a deep sigh, closing his eyes. He felt another blanket being laid upon him and a big hand stroked his hair ever so gently. He smiled sleepily and mumbled, “Mmmm. Nice,” and a few seconds later was out like a light.

 

The next morning, it was all business. Gibbs fed Tony a good breakfast, gave him some last minute instructions, and then dropped him off a block from his new apartment. “Be careful, DiMaio,” he said in parting.

 

Tony gave his boss a mock salute and said, “Always am, _Leland_ ,” before sauntering off.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

Tony spent most of his time over the next couple of weeks going to bars, free-speech rallies, and gun swaps out in the middle of nowhere, in search of anyone even remotely connected to the Warheads. He heard talk of them, and how they were recruiting people, but when Tony asked how he could get into the action, who to speak to, the answer was always a shrug and a “Don’t know. They’ll find you.”

 

He slowly but surely insinuated himself into several quasi-military anti-government groups, listened to extremists and militia members talking conspiracy theories and proselytizing how the government was taking their rights away and killing them with crushing taxes and inadequate medical care. Tony spent way too much time in dark bars sipping cheap beer while listening to anyone and everyone who had a beef with someone. He did his own share of griping, and let everyone know he was a former Navy lieutenant looking for payback, and if that meant taking up arms against their oppressors, then damn it, that’s what he would do. He was about to give up when he had a break.

 

It was at an invitation-only automatic rifle demo that a slight man of about forty with wire-rim glasses and a receding hairline struck up a conversation with him. Looking at Tony with a mild expression, the man introduced himself as Bob Woods. They talked guns for a bit, and then the conversation turned to the usual, about how the government was failing the people, and the poor state of things for the working man, and how returning vets were getting the shaft. They went to get a burger at a nearby eatery, and talked some more. After a few beers, Tony got morose and groused that ‘they kicked me out of the Navy for nothing, made me do time, put me through hell, so fuck them all.’

 

Bob seemed interested and proceeded to tell Tony, in hushed tones, that he was looking for the right kind of men to join a group he belonged to.

 

“What kind of men?” Tony asked.

 

“Guys who know what’s really going on and want to do something about it. The right kinda guys, ya know what I mean?” Bob leaned towards Tony and said, “Military experience is a plus.”

 

“Sounds like something I might be interested in,” Tony replied cautiously. “Depends what your group is about.”

 

“We just want to set things right,” Bob said. He talked for a while, making the group he was touting sound like it was as innocuous as a poker club in some guy’s basement. But as the evening progressed his anti-government views became stronger, and when Tony pressured him for more details, Bob revealed the group’s name: the Warheads.

 

Tony took a moment to hail the server and order a couple of beers before facing Bob with an interested expression. “Look, I’ve had enough of sitting in the wings. Time for some action,” he said, keeping his voice low.

 

Bob nodded. “We’re getting some like-minded men together. Good people, you know? Solid. Next week, if you’re interested. You’d come out to the farm, stay a few days. Shoot off some steam. You understand we gotta check you out, but I know this will be good.”

 

“This sounds like a lot of trouble to go to, just to sit around trading war stories,” Tony said, sounding skeptical.

 

“It’s more than that, a lot more.”

 

“On a farm?”

 

Bob hesitated before saying, “It’s our compound. Main house, barracks, weapons shed. Well, the barracks is really a barn.”

 

This sounded like they meant business, but even though Tony’s aim was to get close to the Warheads, he was wary. Sure, he’d been out here trying to hook up with anyone with a connection to the Warheads, but to be invited into their fold, right out of the blue? He wondered if they were desperate for recruits or something. So far there had been no mention of who was leading this group of weekend warriors, and he decided that he may as well ask straight-out. “Who’s running this group? You?”

 

That made Bob laugh. “Me? No, no. I’m not… Let’s just say the man running the ship knows what he’s doing. Real smart.”

 

“This smart guy got a name?”

 

“He goes by JT.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow.

 

Bob huffed a sigh and said, “His name’s Huston. Just… don’t go spreading that around, okay?”

 

Tony gave a derisive laugh. “Oh yeah, like I have anyone to tell.”

 

Bob took a swig of his beer and asked Tony if he wanted to be part of something big, he had to trust him. “Look, these people have a clear objective, and are need patriots like you to join in, to get something done.”

 

Tony said aggressively, “I don’t do squat without confirmation of a decent payoff. I need some kind of assurance.”

 

“This isn’t about money,” Bob replied. “This is our chance to do something proactive, instead of sitting around griping about it. But,” he said, holding up a hand to prevent Tony from cutting in. “Between you and me, there’s some money involved. Can’t tell you more than that. If you’re not interested, might as well tell me now.”

 

Tony crossed his arms and frowned, as if considering the pros and cons. He nodded sharply. “Yeah. Okay. I’m in. But you’d better not be handing me any bullshit, Bob.”

 

Tony gave the recruiter the number to his burn phone. He left, and for the next few days, was careful to go about his usual routine. He called Gibbs on a different burn phone, from inside a busy mall on the other side of town. He kept the conversation brief, relayed the important parts, and after hanging up, he destroyed the phone. Gibbs had given him the usual lecture on being careful, and ended the call with a gruff, “You’re doing good, Tony.”

 

Apparently, Tony DiMaio checked out okay, because a week later Bob called Tony and told him, “You’re in. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning…”

 

“I can meet you there,” Tony offered.

 

“No, man, it doesn’t work that way.”

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

The night he’d met Bob Woods, Tony had phoned McGee to have him run the guy’s name. He’d waited while McGee did his thing and the results were not surprising. Bob had a background in engineering, was married with a couple of teenaged kids, lived in a small town in Virginia, and had a single gun license, for a hunting rifle. McGee reported, “No priors, not much in the way of savings, both kids adopted. Bob was in the system as a teen, in foster care. He works in DC, for the city as a building code inspector. Seems clean.” Before they disconnected, McGee said, “Remember rule number three.”

 

“That’s why I called you, to double-check,” Tony replied.

 

“No, the other number three. Never be unreachable,” Tim insisted.

 

“I thought that was your department, you know, with the tracker thingie. It is working, isn’t it?”

 

“Oh yes. We’ve been watching you doing your rounds, Tony. Uh, DiMaio.”

 

“Yeah, well now I’m on their radar, I’m not going to be able to report in like I have been, McMom. All communication from now on is going to be between me and my girlfriend,” Tony had confirmed. “Remind her to be careful what she says, okay?”

 

“You be careful, too.”

 

“I always am.”

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

“C’mon, honey, it’s only for a few days,” Tony said into his phone. He’d found two bugs in his apartment when he’d returned from an outing a few days ago. Both had been placed in well-hidden spots by someone knew what they were doing. He wondered if it was Bob. He left the listening devices alone and went about his business.

 

“Who are you going with?” Ziva demanded.

 

Being careful to make this phone call sound like he was talking to a girlfriend, Tony said, “It’s just a guy I met.”

 

“One of your gun-happy friends?” Ziva asked, with obvious disapproval.

 

“I’ve told you before, these people are fighting for our rights.”

 

“Fighting! Why is it always fighting with you? Can you not forget it and–”

 

“No I can’t forget it! And neither should you. If I hadn’t been cheated out of my pension, we’d be married by now,” Tony said angrily. He took a deep breath and calmed down. “I’m going to get this wrapped up in a couple of days. Maybe three. And then I’ll come visit, okay?”

 

“You had better. A girl gets lonely,” she replied, sounding unhappy. “Oh yes, Uncle Leland wants me to tell you to hold your head low. And phone me as soon as you get back!”

 

“It’s ‘keep your head down’,” Tony corrected. He ended the call and sighed, wishing he’d been able to speak to Gibbs in person. It wasn’t safe though; he knew that. Just the same, he was starting to feel really isolated and was looking forward to this investigation being over.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

Bob picked Tony up the next morning outside his apartment, before the sun even had a chance to peep over the bare winter trees. It was late March and a cold snap had left frost on the ground. Tony was glad he had put on an extra layer of clothing, as he had been instructed to pack light. Of course he had a knife in his belt as well as another sheathed in his boot, and a few ‘might come in handy’ items in his jacket pockets: a compass, fire starter, lock picks, a water filtration straw McBoyScout had given him, waterproof tactical gloves, several power bars and a couple of sticks of Gibbs’ favorite brand of beef jerky.

 

Once Tony was in the car, Bob blindfolded him, so he had no clue where he was taken, other than way out in the middle of nowhere. After the paved roads ended, there was more than an hour of driving along minor roads, and then what felt like an endless journey on a bumpy dirt track to reach their destination.

 

As soon as Tony’s blindfold was removed, he got out of the car and looked around to make a quick assessment of his location. Extending in both directions was a sturdy fence that looked about ten feet tall. Someone was serious about the security of the compound and that fence would keep people out, but it also functioned to keep people like him trapped within.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 

Bob walked back to close the gate they had driven through, and Tony went to help him. Before they got the gate closed, Tony caught a glimpse of the dirt road they’d driven in on, and a large expanse of grassy fields. Beyond that he could see nothing but impenetrable, dark woods. The compound was definitely secluded, without any sign of neighbors.

 

“We’ll go to the house,” Bob said. It was old with a sagging roof, and the porch looked as though it would collapse if anyone put a foot upon it. He could see a barn behind the house, and smaller buildings clustered nearby – Tony thought he recognized a chicken coop by its shape. There was a solid-looking shed off to one side, its sides and roof made of corrugated metal. Tony would just bet the weapons were stored in there. Much of the property was overgrown with weeds and bushes, showing signs of age and neglect.

 

Two big SUVs and a couple of jeeps were parked out front on a grassy area, and Tony could see a large paneled van parked in a carport.

 

A well-built man came out of the house with a large pit bull following him. He stepped off the porch – which did not collapse – and looked Tony over. “Name’s James Huston, but call me JT,” he said in a friendly manner.

 

So, finally, he was meeting the elusive James T. Huston. They shook hands, and the dog let out a deep rumbling growl and bared his teeth. Tony immediately stepped back. He made sure not to meet the dog’s eyes and hoped Huston didn’t notice him sweating.

 

“This is Bossy.” Huston smiled fondly at his muscular dog and rubbed him behind the ear.

 

This man had murdered two Navy men, yet he could still show affection for his dog. Tony forced a smile and said, “Good dog,” hoping that covered all the bases. Bossy’s response was to step forward, sniff Tony’s crotch and lift his leg. Tony hopped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the stream of urine.

 

Huston snorted in amusement. “So, DiMaio, I hear you know your weapons. Heavy ordnance?”

 

“Uh, yeah. Rockets. Missiles. I can even make grenades out of pine cones, JT. Call me Tony.”

 

With a chuckle, Huston said, “Oh, we won’t be needing any exploding pine cones, will we Bob?” He looked past Tony’s shoulder, where Bob stood, as if guarding the only avenue of escape. “You were aboard the Eisenhower, Tony? Had some trouble?”

 

Tony could tell Huston was letting him know he knew all about his background. “Yeah, I was, until… Let’s just say it didn’t end on a good note. It’s good to be out from under the Navy’s fucking thumb, you know what I mean?” Usually, a cop did his best to keep his emotions out of play, but Tony allowed a touch of deep-seated anger to reach his eyes, using his hatred for Huston to feed the fire.

 

“I do, indeed. I did my time, was a SEAL. Got out a year ago. Never looked back,” Huston said.

 

“So, JT, this your place?” Tony asked, making a broad motion with his hand.

 

“No, it’s temporary. Just a place to gather the troops,” Huston replied with a knowing smile.

 

Tony turned his head just enough to see Bob, who was standing quietly to one side and slightly behind him. “Bob said you had some kind of plans. I’m sure interested in hearing about it.”

 

Huston seemed to be assessing him. “We do have a plan. We’ve been working on it for a while now. After seeing the state of things, how ordinary folk, soldiers returning home, are given the shaft by the fat cats in Washington… well, let’s just say I mean to do something to even the score.”

 

“Even the score?”

 

“We’re going to make sure people remember the Warheads. We’ll talk details tomorrow. You should get acquainted with the others first. How many have we got now, Bob? Ten?”

 

Bob spoke up. “Ten recruits, with DiMaio here. We’re waiting on Pinnell. Plus the guy who’s bringing that delivery you’re expecting tomorrow afternoon. That’ll make us fourteen strong.”

 

“Just enough to make this job work.” Huston said to Tony, “DiMaio, first order of business is to make sure the men are up to speed with weapons. I’m gonna bet you’re just the man to handle that.”

 

“Yes, sir. Just show me what you’ve got and I’ll take care of the rest,” Tony said, sounding enthusiastic.

 

Huston seemed pleased. “Good, good. We’ll talk later, when Pinnell arrives, but meantime, Bob will show you where to put your gear.” Without waiting for Tony to respond, Huston walked away, his dog at his side.

 

As Bob led the way into the house, Tony asked, “Who is Pinnell?”

 

Bob halted and looked Tony directly in the eye. “Justice Pinnell, he’s JT’s partner in all this. Keep away from him.”

 

“Why?” Tony wanted to ask what was being delivered, too, but decided not to press his luck.

 

After hesitating, Bob said in a low tone, “He’s trouble. Just… just steer clear of him. Why JT keeps him around, I don’t know, but nobody around here asks my opinion.”

 

It was obvious that Bob didn’t like Huston partnering with this Pinnell guy. Tony couldn’t wait to meet the man. He needed to find out if Pinnell was the second person involved in the Navy men’s murders.

 

Tony was warned the basement of the house was off-limits, but other than that, he could roam at will within the compound. The other recruits, who Tony met, seemed no different from anyone you’d meet at a bar or hardware store, at least at first glance. There were nine of them, all able-bodied, ranging from a surly twenty-year-old wearing army fatigues too big for him, to a loud, brash man who looked like he was ready to collect social security. Several had military backgrounds, but none of them seemed cream of the crop, in Tony’s estimation. It struck him that these men had probably been chosen because they were expendable, which was an unsettling thought. That meant _he_ was expendable, too, which was definitely not a good thing.

 

Tony made a wisecrack about _The Dirty Dozen_ – “Very pretty, General. Very pretty. But, can they fight?” – and a couple of the men actually got the reference.

 

It didn’t take long chatting with the men for Tony to figure out that the only people in the know were Huston himself, his partner Pinnell, and Bob, although Bob’s main function seemed to be doing Huston’s bidding. It didn’t look like he held any power in the equation. The rest of the motley crew were just foot soldiers, expected to follow orders.

 

While Bob showed him where to eat, sleep and piss, Tony kept his eye out for anything that would indicate what Huston was up to, and why he had recruited these men. Unfortunately, it wasn’t like they’d left a map lying around, with a big red bullseye on their target. It sounded like Huston was using the basement to plan whatever assault he had in mind. Once the recruits were told what the scheme was, Tony was going to have to find a way to relay that intel back to NCIS.

 

“One more thing,” Bob said as he stopped in front of the corrugated metal shed and inserted a key in a big padlock on the door. Tony thought that it would be easy enough to unlock the tumblers with the lock-picking tools he had stuck in his boot. As he opened the door, Bob said, “JT wants you to make sure the men can handle the automatics. They don’t touch anything else. Got that?”

 

The shed was certainly well stocked. There were enough automatic rifles and ammo to mount an insurrection in a third-world country. An open wooden box held a dozen or more round M67 grenades inside. Tony’s attention turned to several large plastic containers stacked in the far corner of the shed. “Is that… black power? What’s going on here, Bob? This is heavier than I expected. Not that I have a problem with blowing up a few things, but… I don’t make a move without knowing the whole picture. No way am I gonna end up back in the brig,” he said adamantly.

 

Bob assured him Huston would reveal everything as soon as Pinnell joined them. “It doesn’t concern you. Pinnell will be handling the explosives, and he’ll drive it to the scene. He needs you recruits to act as support.”

 

There were enough explosives in that shed to make the van he’d seen parked in the carport into a mobile bomb. “So, is this Pinnell running the show? I thought Huston was,” Tony said, frowning.

 

“Don’t worry. Nobody does nothing without Huston’s approval.”

 

Tony gave a grunt that showed he wasn’t at all convinced of that, but he turned back to the weapons and took stock of everything stored in the shed. The amount of explosives made him very uneasy, knowing how much damage they could do to both people and buildings. If they planned to use the explosives to set off a car bomb, the death toll could be horrifically high. For a moment Tony thought about leaving that night, under cover of darkness, to report his finds to Gibbs, but he didn’t want to take off without knowing what their target was. If he remained with the Warheads and participated in the assault, there was no guarantee he could prevent it on his own. He’d sure as hell try if that was his only option, but getting back to NCIS with as much information about the Warheads’ plans had to be his primary goal. Exactly how he was going to find out the details and escape in one piece, he wasn’t sure.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

Cell reception was non-existent within the walls; apparently there was some sort of jammer in play. They guys complained about it, griping they missed the internet. Even if cell phones were useless within the compound, once outside the gates, they would surely become active – if they were within range of a tower.

 

Tony kept his phone in his pocket and surreptitiously took photos of the layout of the compound, and the men, too, when nobody was watching. It was very risky but that was the nature of being undercover. As soon as he was outside the walls and was able to get online again, he’d send all the images to NCIS. He considered going over the wall that night, sending the pictures and then returning to the compound, but they could be miles from the nearest cell tower. In the end, Tony decided to wait until he, and the recruits, were told what the plan was. That wouldn't be until the next day, from what Huston had said.

 

One thing, Tony was glad that with the tracking device embedded in his shoulder, the team back at NCIS knew where he was. Between Abby and McRadar, they should be able to pinpoint his location by its signal. If they’d watched his signal on the move during the trip in Bob’s car, they’d have seen it disappear when he entered the Warhead’s compound. It would be pretty obvious that’s where he was currently located.

 

Although Tony had been blindfolded on the drive to this secret location, he’d paid attention to the direction of the sun and how long the trip had taken. He was sure they’d traveled due west from DC for less than two hours – to a rural location, possibly in the Shenandoah area, he surmised.

 

Tony had spotted several auto keys hanging on a key-holder behind the kitchen door. At least if he got in trouble and had to bug out, he figured he could steal an SUV and hightail it for DC. Nobody seemed to be guarding the gate during the daytime, but he didn’t know if there was a guard at night. The heavy gate was on rollers, so it would be a matter of pushing it open before driving through. It wasn’t exactly designed for a quick exit though.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 

That afternoon, Huston gathered everyone in the barn, which he called the barracks because of the sleeping quarters in the large loft. He gathered the men around and led a meeting that felt more like a rally. He did a pretty good job of whipping the men into a frenzy. “….our armed forces and military have been fighting in these fake wars for oil, for power and money, and someone sure as hell is getting rich on the blood of good American patriots, but not us, that’s for sure! We risk our lives and our health, and for what? What do we get out of it? I sure as hell didn’t get rich putting my life on the line for them, did you? We come home to nothing. Our families abandon us, our government won’t even pay for our health care. They just throw us back into society like we’re trash. They used us over there, but once we’re back, we’re nothing! They won’t listen to our demands; it’s as if we have no voice! Well, I tell you, I am mad as hell, and you are, too! I can see it in your eyes, Rick, and yours, too, Tyler. Hell, I can see it in all of you! Do not let them defeat you! I will walk shoulder to shoulder with you, my brothers, and together we will fight back, and yell so fucking loud they can’t help but hear us! Let me hear you yell! Let out that anger! Yeah, that’s what I want to hear!”

 

No doubt about it, James Huston was a damned good speaker, lots of charisma, and he had no problem getting his audience to get on board the gun-toting train. By the time Huston had finished his rousing speech, every single one of the recruits was itching to get out there and shoot their oppressors down. Exactly who the oppressors were, Huston never said, simply that they would fight together and take back what was rightfully theirs.

 

The common denominator that bound these men together was painfully obvious: they all had some seriously suppressed anger, felt they’d been treated unfairly, were struggling financially, and were desperately afraid that what little they owned would be stolen by big business, or the government, or both. They felt helpless and James Huston was offering them a way to regain some sense of power.

 

Out of the nine men, five of them were former military, and a couple of the older men were disgruntled vets. Two of the recruits were gun enthusiasts who didn’t seem to have a clear idea as to why they were there other than they’d get a chance to fire some rockets and somehow get even. It looked like Huston and Bob were the only two men who knew what was going on, and so far they’d kept their agenda close to the vest.

 

Afterwards, they all ate dinner together at a couple of big tables set up in the dining room. Despite the pep talk Huston had just given, the men talked among themselves about mundane things: sports and family and how much they hated their jobs. Stew and slices of white bread were doled out on metal plates like prison food. It made Tony crave for pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese – he would order enough for everybody if he could.

 

He made a point of striking up conversations with the other men, trying to get a feel for how serious they were about following Huston towards whatever glory he was talking about. It seemed that most of them were willing to follow such a leader without asking too many questions. Tony asked if the middle-aged man sitting next to him if he was ready for this. The man, who said his name was Sandy, shrugged and said in a defeated voice, “What else can I do?”

 

When they’d finished and most of the men had wandered off to a rec room set up with a pool table and TV, Tony and another man pitched in and cleaned up the kitchen. They’d finished, and Tony was just putting a bag of garbage outside in a big metal drum, when he heard a commotion out front. He stepped to the corner of the house, staying in the shadows, and saw Huston greeting a man who had just driven into the compound. They looked like best buddies, the way Huston clamped his hand on the new arrival’s shoulder. What Tony found interesting was that when the new guy put his hand out to pat Bossy, the pit bull shrank back in fear.

By the time Tony had stepped back into the kitchen through the side door, Huston and his friend were in the front room, talking. The pit slunk past them, his ears laid close to his skull, and entered the kitchen. Tony pulled a piece of beef jerky out of his pocket and tossed it at the big dog’s feet. Bossy snapped it up and a moment later was leaning against Tony’s leg, asking for more. He tossed the dog the remaining piece of jerky, and held his hands out to show he had no more. “Sorry, bud. All gone,” he said. Bossy looked at him with sad eyes. “This means we’re friends now, right? No more trying to piss on Tony, okay?” The pit bull snorted and made his way to a dog bed in the corner, settling down with a great sigh.

 

Huston called out for Tony to join them, and introduced the newcomer as Justice Pinnell. In his fifties, Pinnell was fit, his stance like that of a soldier. He perused Tony with a hostile expression and sniffed as if he found him lacking. “You’re the weapons specialist? Got any experience with explosives?”

 

Tony didn’t like the way the man was sneering at him. “I know they make people sit up and listen. Not often you find a weapon that impresses and frightens the enemy,” he said, paraphrasing from _The Anarchist Cookbook_.

 

Pinnell got right in Tony’s face and demanded, “Anyone ever tell you, you got a smart mouth, Mayo?”

 

Tony straightened his back, practically standing at attention, and said, “All the time, sir. And it’s _Di_ Maio.”

 

For a minute Tony thought this was it; he was going to be taken out back, shot in the head, and buried so deep in the woods nobody would ever find his body. But all of a sudden Pinnell laughed, a little wildly, and said, “Then it’s about time someone teaches you how to build an ANFO bomb, dontcha think?”

 

“Thanks, but I’m gonna to stick to handguns.”

 

Pinnell’s grin disappeared and he pushed Tony against a wall. “Whoever said you had a choice, Mayo?”

 

Tony tensed up, his fists at his sides, but before the situation could escalate, Huston got between them. He laughed uneasily, his eyes darting between Tony and Pinnell. “Okay, let’s stick to the program. Don’t want to go scaring off the new guys, right Pinnell?” A look passed between the two men and Tony was surprised to see Pinnell back off. “We’ll go talk to the recruits now,” Huston said. He placed a hand on Pinnell’s shoulder and gave Tony a small shove in the direction of the rec room. Once there, Huston announced to the recruits that Pinnell was a vet who’d seen his share of action, and they should listen and learn.

 

The guys gathered around, and Pinnell, enjoying the limelight, started telling a story about fighting in Iraq, and how he’d skinned a local man’s entire family alive because the guy had fed him some false intel. Tony noticed that Bob stayed to the rear of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He did not like or trust Pinnell, that much was obvious, and Tony couldn't blame him. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Pinnell was nothing but trouble.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

Even though he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, Tony was glad when the men headed for the barn. Cots were set up in the loft, which was roomy enough they didn’t have to bunk on top of each other. If there was any heat source, Tony couldn't feel it. He kept his thermal underwear on to ward off the cold and pulled a heavy wool blanket over himself, longing for the comfort of his own bed with its soft sheets and down comforter. He also yearned for the company of his friends and colleagues, especially Gibbs. With a sigh, Tony reminded himself not to think about them, or how cut off he felt, and instead, to concentrate on the job at hand.

 

The next couple of hours, Tony thought up ways he could sneak into the basement so he could look over the plans for whatever scheme was being cooked up. Heavy weapons and explosives suggested an assault on a building or ship, rather than a kidnapping or assassination. With the amount of men involved, it had to be something big, maybe a government office or embassy. There was always some big event going on in DC, galas and fundraisers with $1000-per-person tickets, attended by dignitaries, politicians and military leaders. Attacking one of those affairs would certainly make a big impact.

 

Around 0200, Tony slipped on his boots and jacket, and went to use the latrine, located out behind the barn. The washhouse had running water and shower facilities, just like they had at summer camp he attended most every summer in his youth. When he was finished, Tony took the opportunity to do a bit of snooping. It was very quiet and dark, with a couple of exterior spotlights on the house and barn offering limited light. As he moved silently around the perimeter, he didn’t catch sight of anyone guarding the place. Of course they were in a remote location, and the wall was formidable enough to keep out anyone but the most motivated of intruders.

 

Tony had barely made it back to the barn when he heard a growl behind him. He slowly turned and saw the pit bull standing five feet away, glaring at him. “Hey, puppy, good boy,” Tony said quietly, hoping the dog didn’t pick up on his fear. “Nice…uh.. nice Bossy.” Shit, he was sweating bullets and any minute the dog would bark, and someone would appear and demand to know what the new recruit was doing wandering around the compound at night.

 

“How about we keep this our little secret?” Tony asked, keeping his voice low. The dog took a few steps forward and next thing he was nosing at Tony’s groin, and then pawing at him. “C’mon, can’t you go find a girl doggie? Or maybe a boy doggie to pick on?” Tony whispered, afraid to move. The dog wasn’t giving up though, pawing hard enough for his claws to dig into his leg. It took a moment for Tony to remember he had a couple of power bars in his pocket. “You want a treat? Okay…” Slowly, Tony stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the nut-and-grain bar. He’d barely stripped off the wrapping when the dog lunged, snatching the granola bar from hand in one big chomp. Tony was more than a little surprised to find he still had his fingers. They were slimed by dog slobber but all his digits were still present and accounted for. When Bossy had finished the bar, Tony pulled out a second one. He unwrapped it and tossed it several feet away. As soon as the dog went after the snack, Tony scrambled into the barn and closed the heavy door behind him with a sigh of relief.

 

He made it back to the loft and to his cot without anyone raising an alarm. To his surprise, he slept well, and was the last one in to breakfast.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

For some reason, Huston seemed to like Tony (Tony had to remember to smile in his presence, and call him JT). Or maybe he thought he was useful to keep around. After breakfast, when it because apparent there was nothing on the agenda, Tony played up his McGyver skills and showed the men how to make a stun gun out of a fire starter. They really got into it, zapping each other and shouting whenever they themselves got stung. As Tony watched the men horsing around, he thought how his dad would never believe it if he told him that all those hours in front of the television had paid off.

 

Huston took Tony aside and told him he wanted him run combat drills, to get the guys in shape. Tony did as he was told, with a nod and a “Sure thing, JT.” He based the exercises on those he’d done while at Remington, and had the men running around in the woods shooting at targets and practicing hand-to-hand combat. Some of the guys had surprisingly little weapons training, considering they were hell bent upon mounting an assault on an enemy target.

 

“What goes on during War Camp stays at War Camp!” Tony yelled, channeling Gibbs’ Marine attitude. “I wanna see more gusto out of all of you! And you, probie, yeah you, if you don’t point your weapon at the ground in the next two seconds I’m gonna head slap you all the way to DC!” Shit, the guys sucked it up so eagerly, you’d think they liked getting shouted at and run ragged.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

Finally, that afternoon, Huston took the men down to the basement. There, the leader of the Warheads outlined his plan to launch an attack during a prestigious fundraising gala at the convention center. The lavish event, which would be attended by over a thousand of DC’s elite, high-profile community leaders and politicians, was going to happen in two days’ time. He went over the maps and diagrams with the attentive recruits, and reminded them how important this was to bring light to the government’s chronically bad treatment of soldiers and sailors returning from active duty overseas.

 

When Huston outlined the plan, he spoke confidently, and with such zeal, that none of the men questioned him. They’d be divided into two units. Pinnell and his crew were going to place a truck bomb in the parking garage under the building. They would have to neutralize the guards on duty, and they should expect resistance. Huston’s unit would go into the gala and kill all the military leaders in attendance. Once they’d taken out all the military attendees, they’d retreat and set off the bomb. He didn’t go into details about how they’d get out, just assured them it would be a success if they worked together. Huston chose the men he wanted on his team during the attack, including Tony.

 

One of the recruits, the older man who Tony only knew as Irwin (he wasn’t sure if it was his first or last name), had the balls to ask how they were going to get away with it, and the Warheads’ leader smiled and bullshitted him that he had it all worked out. “Just follow my lead,” he ordered. “We have the element of surprise and superior weapons. All you have to concern yourselves with is getting inside and taking out everyone wearing a uniform.”

 

Tony made eye contact with Zander, the young, sullen recruit, and it was clear they were both wondering why nobody saw how crazy this whole setup was. Killing top military brass in order to improve treatment of returning soldiers? It sounded like the Warheads were hell-bent on shooting up a lot of innocent people and creating as much chaos as possible, and no way was Tony going to allow that to happen. The whole thing was insane, and they had to be stopped, even if there was only the slightest chance Huston’s plan could be successful.

 

It looked like it was going to be up to him to get out of there and let NCIS know what was going on.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

Everyone seemed to disappear around five. The recruits were unusually quiet and withdrawn; some were resting in their racks, and a few were playing cards on the porch. Bob was working on the engine of one of the jeeps out front, keeping his head down, it seemed. This didn’t look like a bunch of men gung-ho about trooping off to kill the enemy; Tony wondered how many of them were thinking about making a break for the fence.

 

When Tony spotted Huston and Pinnell, slowly walking towards the far end of the compound, deep in conversation, he decided to take a little trip down to the basement. Might as well get photos of the plans before he left.

 

The basement door wasn’t even locked. It was almost too easy. Tony got the photos he needed – and in record time. He stuck his phone in his back pocket, and was heading up the narrow stairs when a dark figure blocked his way. It was Zander, looking just about as startled as Tony felt. His expression soon turned suspicious and he demanded to know what Tony was doing.

 

Tony gave him an easy smile and said, “Just double-checking how much firepower we’re going to need. Move. I have to get everything ready.” For a moment he thought the young man was going to stop him, or worse, yell for help. He met Zander’s eyes and said, “Please. Move aside.” For some reason, that seemed to break the ice, and the kid stepped back into the hallway.

 

As Tony passed by, Zander grabbed his arm and said tersely, “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

 

“Believe me, that’s not my intention.” Tony took a chance and said quietly, “Get out before this goes any further.”

 

Zander’s eyes widened. “I… don’t know how to,” he whispered.

 

Tony heard footsteps on the porch and saw Bob coming in. He pulled Zander into the kitchen and said in a low voice, “Watch for my signal.”

 

Zander whispered, “When?”

 

“Tonight,” Tony said, moving to meet Bob in the hall. “Hey Bob, didn’t you say we were getting a delivery tonight? More weapons?” Tony heard a door close somewhere behind him, and gave an inner sigh of relief that Zander had made it outside.

 

“Yeah, RPGs. You know how to use them?”

 

“Sure. Rule number one, don’t stand behind me when I launch one,” Tony said with a grim smile.

 

“You ready for this?”

 

“Locked and loaded. Don’t worry, all we have to do is follow the plan, right?”

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 

Of course, things did not exactly go according to plan.

 

Before dinner, a pickup truck arrived at the gates and Bob rolled the gate back and let it in. Tony saw him conversing with the driver, presumably letting the guy know where to park. While the driver backed the truck up, close to the storage shed, Bob saw Tony and waved him over. “I’ve got something to do. Can you help him unload? There are six RPGs in crates.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

It took Tony about five seconds to realize he knew the delivery guy and that the shit was about to hit the fan. Bryce Kellogg, a two-bit thief – a petty officer at the time – had stolen a payroll from a bank just up the street from the Navy Yard. Must have been eight years ago. Tony could see the light bulb flickering in Kellogg’s brain as soon as they came face-to-face, and then the guy’s eyes widened when the penny dropped, and his mouth opened to shout in alarm. So Tony punched him in the forehead. Hard. Talk about going down like a sack of potatoes.

 

He should have made a run for it, immediately, but he didn’t. Instead, Tony dragged Kellogg behind some bushes, did a hasty job of tying and gagging him with his own belt and scarf, then went back to the weapons shed. There, he grabbed an old rag from a toolbox, tore it into a long strip and wound it tightly around a grenade. Taking a deep breath and praying it was not going to be his last, Tony held the grenade to his chest, and pulled the pin out. He found a cardboard box filled with shredded packing paper and gingerly placed the active grenade in the center, like an egg nestled in a nest. The rag did its job and held the handle down when Tony carefully let go, and nothing exploded.

 

Tony patted his pockets and located the small fire starter he always carried, and lit the paper in the box on fire. Instead of the grenade detonating in the usual five seconds once the pin was out, it would take a few minutes for the fire to burn through the rag. And when it burned through, the arm would spring up, count to five, and kaboom!

 

Tony hastily chose a few weapons before leaving the shed, and locked it behind him. He headed for the vehicles, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Pinnell and Huston standing near a jeep, involved in a discussion with Bob. Tony backtracked, swearing because now he’d have to make a run for it on foot. Either that or try to shoot his way out. He was outnumbered and the ammunition in the shed could blow at any time, so going AWOL over the fence seemed like the best course of action. When clambering over the compound’s ten-foot fence, which wasn’t as easy as it sound, he thought, thank God he had been working out so much lately.

 

He was deep in the woods before he heard a shout. Quickening his pace, Tony realized he hadn’t had the time or opportunity to let Zander know now would be a good time to leave, but once the shed blew, he’d be sure to get the hint.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

They came after him, but he hadn’t heard any more shouting after the first alarm went up. The dog was useless at tracking, and besides, Tony had already ascertained the fierce-looking pit bull was more interested in food and getting scratched behind his ears than chasing deserters. It struck Tony that he probably wasn’t the first man Huston and his accomplice had chased through these woods. Just look at how petty officers Hansen and Green had ended up, dead and dismembered, and scattered across several counties.

 

This was no time to be complacent though. Tony looked back, and through the trees he could see several men after him, led by Huston and Pinnell. They were all well-armed and mad as hell that the man they’d brought into their hideout turned out to be a cop – they must have figured out that much. Tony had been in on their plans and, if he escaped, no doubt he could get them all arrested.

 

He heard a couple of engines, a jeep and an SUV, from the sound of it, giving chase on the road, trying to cut him off. He just headed deeper into the woods to avoid them. Just as Tony reached the crest of a hill, and was wondering why the hell the explosive device he’d rigged up hadn’t blown by now, an explosion resounded through the woods. There was one bang and then another. Crows flew from their perches overhead, squawking in fear. A moment later came a deep thundering boom that shook the ground. Tony stopped and leaned against a tree, looking back the way he’d come. A heavy plume of black smoke rose from the direction of the compound. He grinned at his success, and pressed on.

 

He kept up a steady pace despite the heavy underbrush and uneven ground, and soon his lungs aching from the exertion and the cold March air. There was a slope with a stream at the bottom, and he risked stopping to have a breather and to get a drink of water. The filter straw was coming in handy; he reminded himself to tell McGee he’d used it, when he got back. Daylight was fading. It was going to get cold tonight, but being on the move should keep him warm. Tony took out his cell phone but couldn't get a signal. At least he had a bunch of pictures of the Warheads’ plans on it. Now all he had to do was make it to civilization and get the important intel into Gibbs’ hands.

 

According to his compass, he was heading west, though the hilly terrain was rough in places and he had to zig and zag a lot. Tony had no idea where he was, other than somewhere in Virginia, but he figured that even if he didn’t know where he was, his team would know, courtesy of the tracker embedded in his shoulder. After a quick inventory of his pockets – he had a power bar, a bag of dried fruit, and a compact mylar blanket – he dug out a warm knitted hat and gloves and pulled them on.

 

He’d arrived at the Warhead’s compound carrying only one weapon, a knife Gibbs had given him at Christmas: a Zero Tolerance combat folding knife with black tiger stripes on its steel blade. Man, he’d never been so proud as when his boss had given it to him and whispered in his ear, “Good job, DiNozzo.” Not that he wanted to get into hand-to-hand with any of the men who were after him. Which is why he’d grabbed a Mark 23 with a ten-round magazine and a holster that clipped to his belt, and two grenades before fleeing the weapons storage shed.

 

Every now and then he’d stop and listen for signs of pursuit. Once he thought he heard something but there was no sign of movement anywhere behind him. The darkness would be good cover, but it also made movement dangerous; the ground was frozen and slippery in places, and there were downed branches everywhere.

 

Tony had just made his way around a rocky outcrop and onto what looked like a rarely used trail through the woods when he was slammed to the ground. He twisted and got in a couple of body blows, and for the next couple of minutes – which felt like a lifetime – he put everything he’d ever learned from grappling with Gibbs in the NCIS gym to use. Except this was no exercise in self-defense with soft mats beneath him and the luxury of being able to call ‘time’ when he got winded.

 

This was the real thing; it was scary and violent, and when he desperately groped for the gun holstered at his waist, it was no longer there. There was a hand at his throat, a raised arm and the glint of a knife. Tony jabbed with an elbow, got the guy’s nose, drew blood. His assailant screamed. He drew his knife from its sheath, and rammed the blade into the man’s stomach. It felt unreal; the man looked surprised and then collapsed to one side. Tony struggled to his feet, breathing hard. The blood looked black in the dark, and all he could think was that it was way too easy to kill another human being.

 

It was only when Tony searched the dead man for weapons and tossed them to one side that he had a look at his face, and discovered he’d just killed Justice Pinnell.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

It was so dark in the woods, Tony probably wouldn't have found his gun if he hadn’t stepped on it. He re-holstered it and checked his compass before continuing west, leaving Pinnell’s body where it was. When he came upon an overgrown trail, he took it, figuring that it was preferable to stumbling around in the woods and breaking an ankle. The moon was rising, casting a pale light on the trail, for which Tony was grateful.

 

He had been jogging along for only a short while when he heard someone coming up behind him. Turning, he pulled his gun, safety off. Although he couldn't make out who it was, Tony shouted, “Stop right where you are! I’m Special Agent DiNozzo, NCIS. Put down your weapon!”

 

Whoever it was ignored Tony’s command and kept on coming. When he was within six feet, Tony could see the entire right side of the man’s body had been burned, his face and hair seared. It was Huston, barely recognizable. He must have been caught in the blast of the weapons shed. How the hell had he made it all this way? He must be in terrible pain. For a moment, Tony felt concern, but Huston raised his arm and cried out, “Traitor!”

 

At the last moment, Tony threw himself to one side. A bullet hit a tree with a loud thunk, and immediately a sharp pain stabbed into the side of his head. He got off a return shot and saw Huston collapse on the trail. After approaching the prone figure with caution, and kicking his gun away, Tony frisked Huston for more weapons but found none. He was about to check his condition when there was a crashing in the underbrush, and Bossy appeared, panting heavily.

 

Bob was right behind the pit bull, a rifle in hand. He stopped, breathing hard, and stared at Huston lying still on the ground, and then rushed towards him, dropping the gun as if it no longer mattered. He moaned, “No, no, please God, no!” Down on his knees, Bob found the single entry wound and pressed down hard on Huston’s chest.

 

“I’m a federal agent. Up on your feet,” Tony ordered, getting a firm grip on Bob’s arm. Bob protested, not wanting to leave his fallen friend, but Tony pushed him face-first against the nearest tree and checked him for weapons. Finding only a knife, Tony tossed it aside and let Bob go back to tending the wounded man. He’d seen enough of the dead and dying to know Huston wasn’t going to make it. Bossy was licking Huston’s face, whining, and Bob was crying, and Tony didn’t know when he’d ever seen anything more pitiful.

 

“Why’d you do it?” Bob asked plaintively, holding Huston in his arms.

 

“He was going to shoot me,” Tony replied.

 

Bob shook his head. “No. Why’d you join us if you were only going to do this?”

 

“Because you were going to murder people, and set off a huge fucking bomb. And because of Hansen and Green,” Tony said angrily. “You helped him, didn’t you? You killed them and cut them up.”

 

“You don’t understand. His mom and dad took me in when I didn’t have anywhere to go. He takes care of me. He’s my _brother_.”

 

Huston made a wet, choking noise, and stilled, and Bob rocked him, weeping.

 

Before Tony could respond, he heard the sound of several people coming along the trail. He readied himself, gun raised, ready to shoot, and shouted, “Federal Agent! Identify yourself!”

 

A command of “Stand down!” and the sight of Gibbs’ silver hair almost made him weak in the knees. Within seconds, Tony was surrounded by a squad of NCIS agents, including McGee and Ziva, and several men in heavy gear and night-vision goggles, with ATF emblazoned on their chests. He grinned at Gibbs, and asked, “You brought ATF as backup and you’re still late to the party?”

 

“We would have been here a lot sooner if you hadn’t been changing direction every five seconds, DiNozzo,” Gibbs retorted. He let the other agents take care of Bob, pulling him away from Huston’s body and handcuffing him, while he looked Tony over.

 

“I’m fine. There’s another body back a ways, and a guy I tied up, back in the compound, and maybe nine other Warheads men out looking for me.”

 

Gibbs snorted. “Already rounded up a few out on the road. They didn’t put up much of a fight.”

 

“Everyone all right?”

 

Gibbs nodded but he was frowning, and reached to touch Tony’s face. Tony flinched but Gibbs warned, “You’re hit.”

 

“Oh, yeah, just some bark.” He touched the side of his head and found he was bleeding behind his ear. Okay, it hurt and there seemed to be some blood but it seemed insignificant in the greater scheme of things. He removed his knit cap and saw it was dark with blood.

 

Gibbs pulled back the collar of Tony’s jacket and shone a flashlight on him. He looked grim and called, “Medic!”

 

“It’s not that big a deal,” Tony objected. He spotted McGee, and called him over. Pulling out his cell phone, Tony said, “McEvidence, take care of this, will you? I took photos of their plans.”

 

“Sure, Tony,” McGee was quick to reply. He accesses the images and asked, “They were going to attack the convention center?”

 

Without taking his eyes off Tony, Gibbs told McGee to get hold of Homeland to put out an alert, as a precaution.

 

“I don’t think this went beyond Huston and Bob, and Pinnell, and they’re all… out of action now,” Tony said. All of a sudden, the world started to tilt and he went down on his knees. “I don’t feel so good.”

 

The medic hurried over, a woman with her hair tied back and freckles across her nose. The look on her face was similar to Gibbs’, and when she told Tony to remain very still – “Please do not move, Agent.” – and Gibbs warned – “DiNozzo, if you don't stop squirming, I’m gonna tie you to the damn tree.” – he took them both seriously.

 

The medic, who told Tony her name was Janine, taped a thick pad behind his ear, and efficiently rolled a wide strip of gauze around his head to keep it in place. She then did the same with the side of his neck.

 

“What’s wrong with my neck?” Tony tried to touch it but Gibbs blocked him.

 

“Is that too tight, Agent DiNozzo?”

 

“I guess it’s okay. How bad am I hurt?”

 

“There’s a big splinter in your neck,” Janine explained.

 

“Oh. You mean it…”

 

“Look straight ahead, okay? Don’t turn your head. This is important. Once we get you back to the vehicle, I’ll fit you with a cervical collar to keep it steady, until we get you to the hospital.”

 

“I don’t want to go–”

 

Gibbs told him to shut up, that he had no say in the matter, and there was some discussion about how to transport him, which Tony didn’t really listen to because all of a sudden he felt really cold and he was breathing too fast, like he was about to puke. Then Gibbs was there, crouching in front of him. “You did good, DiNozzo. Saved a lot of people. You’re gonna be fine.”

 

“I’m going to be fine?”

 

“Damn right you are,” Gibbs said, with a confident smile.

 

Tony could tell he was just saying that so he wouldn't panic, which was really nice of him. In a way, it worked, because they gave him some juice to drink and got him to his feet. Gibbs noticed the round grenades in his pocket and handed them over to an ATF agent, and then they were on their way. Tony walked out on his own steam, apparently, although all he remembered about the journey was the feeling of Gibbs’ arm around his waist, offering more than just physical support.

 

When he was seated in a big SUV, a rigid collar around his neck, he discovered Zander sitting opposite him. Gibbs slid into the vehicle next to Tony and as they started to move, he said, “You know ATF Agent Zander Dimitropoulos.”

 

Zander smiled and nodded. Gone was the moody wannabe soldier, and in his place was a confident ATF agent. “Glad to see you got out,” he said.

 

“Okay. Wow, I didn’t see this one coming. Sorry about not giving you a heads-up… I didn’t have time,” Tony said.

 

“It’s okay. I joined a couple of guys in a jeep. We didn’t get far. Your people had already set up roadblocks, and my boss confirmed my identity, so we’re all good.”

 

Tony thought of the two men he’d killed, and that although the Warheads’ plan had been stopped before it had even gotten off the ground, they were only one group among a thousand similar ones. “Yeah. We’re just great.” He swallowed and said sincerely, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

“Thanks for trying to help me. Not many people would have done what you did,” Zander said, reaching out to shake Tony’s hand.

 

It was Gibbs who said, “That’s what makes Tony DiNozzo so special.”

 

Tony grinned all the way to the ER.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 

They met an ambulance on the main road, transferred Tony, and whisked him off to the nearest hospital. It was a small medical center, but the staff in the emergency department was efficient and, best of all, didn’t mind that Gibbs stayed at his side. They did scans of his injury and were able to remove the large splinter from his neck under a local anesthetic. Tony had to remain overnight, but as it was about four in the morning by the time they finished the procedure, he didn’t complain.

 

The next day involved getting transferred to Bethesda and getting checked out there – Ducky insisted on it – and finally, late that afternoon, almost 24 hours after he’d jumped the fence of the Warheads’ compound, Tony found himself sitting on Gibbs’ couch with Abby curled up at his side, while McGee and Ziva drank beer and went over the case. Gibbs sat in his easy chair, working on his fourth coffee of the day coffee, seeming oddly satisfied.

 

It turned out the second lot of DNA from the murders of the two Navy men belonged to Bob Woods. As he’d told Tony, James Huston’s parents had fostered him throughout his teenage years. He’d become especially close to James and had followed him into the Warheads, even helping him murder petty officers Green and Hansen, and dispose of their bodies. He’d won prizes for sharpshooting as a teen, and had been the one to kill PO Hansen. Both Hansen and Green had been early recruits but both men had decided to leave the Warheads, and had made the fatal mistake of telling Huston they planned to go to the cops.

 

Bob had acted as a front for Huston, handled the money and leased the old farm they made into the Warheads’ compound. He was also instrumental in planning the terrorist attack. Being a city a building code inspector, it hadn’t been difficult for him to obtain the floor plans of the convention center where the gala was being held.

 

There wasn’t much left of the Warheads’ compound after the weapons stash and barrels of black powder had blown. Several of the recruits had been injured, and Kellogg had died in the blast. Tony voted they arrange for a bulldozer to plow down anything that remained. “Especially that fence,” he said.

 

“There’s one more thing,” Abby ventured.

 

“What?” Gibbs asked suspiciously.

 

“Bossy. The dog. He needs a home, and nobody seems to want a pit bull and I know he’d love to live–”

 

“No. We are not having a dog, and that’s final,” Gibbs said sternly, shooing Abby, McGee and Ziva out.

 

Gibbs got Tony upstairs with the minimum of fuss. They’d done a cursory job of sponging off the worst of the blood and grime in the hospital, but Tony insisted he needed a really hot shower. Gibbs insisted he couldn't do it alone. Before he could say anything else, Tony found himself in the master bathroom being soaped up and sprayed down with a hand-held shower, then rubbed dry with a warm towel. He was dressed in PJs and put to bed – in Gibbs’ bed, and it wasn’t until Gibbs joined him in that bed that Tony turned to him, careful of his injured neck, and asked, “Is it always going to be this way?”

 

“What way?” Gibbs asked, slipping his arm under Tony’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

 

“You taking over?”

 

After a moment of thought, Gibbs said, “Only when you’re hurt.”

 

“That’s nice. Being taken care of. And…unexpected.” Tony stared at Gibbs, trying to figure things out. “You’ve been thinking about doing this for a while?”

 

“Helping you shower?”

 

Tony narrowed his eyes at Gibbs’ attempt to appear dense. “No. I mean this.” He made a motion with his hand to indicate the two of them.

 

“Oh. Us.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, us.”

 

“For a while,” Gibbs admitted.

 

“Really? How long?”

 

Gibbs cheeks turned pink. “Since I met you.”

 

Tony was floored. They’d been friends, colleagues and more, but he’d never dreamed of them being… this. Whatever this was. Connected, maybe. He smirked though, and said, “Took you long enough.”

 

“Worth waiting for,” Gibbs replied, with a satisfied smile.

 

“Yeah, I guess it is. I didn’t see it coming though. You were sorta sneaky.”

 

Gibbs kissed Tony on the forehead, and then lightly on the mouth. “Good, have to keep you on your toes.”

 

Tony pulled Gibbs close for a kiss, a real kiss. Gibbs opened up willingly, his mouth hungry, tongue slick, cheeks flushed. Tony wrapped his arms around Gibbs’ shoulders, feeling slightly desperate because this could not be real. Gibbs’ rough hand stroked the side of his face, soothing him, telling him he would still be here in the morning.

 

“Gibbs,” Tony whispered, wondering how this had come about.

 

“Not Gibbs.”

 

Tony smiled. “Leland?”

 

“DiMaio…?” Gibbs teased.

 

“Jethro,” he said fondly.

 

“Go to sleep,” Jethro ordered.

 

“Bossy.”

 

“Are you calling me bossy?” Gibbs asked.

 

“No. I’m talking about Bossy, the dog.”

 

“Tony… what have you done?”

 

“He needs a good home and I like him,” Tony said firmly. He yawned and closed his eyes. “God, I’m tired.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Mmm?” Tony mumbled.

 

Jethro sighed. “Never mind. Tomorrow.”

 

“Mmm. Tomorrow. Night, Boss,” Tony murmured as he fell asleep in Jethro’s arms.

 

~ • ~ • ~ • ~ the end ~ • ~ • ~ • ~

 

 


End file.
